


money talks, bullshit walks

by Cazio



Series: Concatenation [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cazio, Divorced!AU, M/M, Post-Divorce, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily, Superhusbands, sixth grade Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve held Tony’s glare, even though both of them were probably thinking about the last time they’d been in that private jet together, thirteen (or was it fourteen?) years ago.<br/>Back when they thought sex could fix things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	money talks, bullshit walks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Anderson School does exist, but my portrayal of it is in no way a portayal of the real thing (at least, I hope not).
> 
> Third installment to my mess of divorced!stony shittiness.
> 
> Last time people were upset about Steve's asshole-ness, but this is a more accurate portrayal of what Steve and Tony actually act like in normal day-to-day life.
> 
>  
> 
> _"The claim is on you,_  
>  _The sights are on me,_  
>  _So what do you do that's guaranteed,_  
>  _Hey little girl,_  
>  _You want it all,_  
>  _The furs, the diamonds, the painting on the wall._  
>  _Come on come on, lovin' for the money,_  
>  _Come on come on, listen to the money talk."_  
>  _\- Money Talks, AC/DC_
> 
>  
> 
> _[eight years after]_  
> 

No matter how dressed up he felt, the other parents attending an Anderson School event always made him look like he was living on the street. Steve adjusted his tie another time, giving a polite nod to a couple walking in, their daughter dressed to match her mother’s dress and her father’s tie. Steve dimly wondered if he was going to match Tony and Peter at all. Probably not. Something told him that Tony would be in black tie like most of the other fathers here. Steve’s slacks, suit jacket, and button-up apparently didn’t qualify as formal.

Rain thwapped against his umbrella as he shifted on his feet, scanning the crowds for Tony’s dark eyes and perfectly fashioned hair. Steve was pretty sure his was no longer combed-looking now that he’d been out in the wet atmosphere for a half hour.

Cars hissed by on the street, sending small sprays of water over the curb. He noted the way the puddles picked up the reds, blues, and yellows from the lights all around, but didn’t show other colors as vibrantly. He’d have to remember that next time he had the urge to paint a rainy scene.

“Excuse me, sir,” and old man said, tapping his elbow.

Steve turned, a small smile coming to his lips on instinct. “Yes?”

“Are you waiting for someone this evening?”

There was a false cordiality to this man that Steve didn’t much like.

“Yes, I am.”

“Mhm, yes.” The man nodded once, clasping his wrinkled hands together around his umbrella. “I must ask: do you have a student that attends the Anderson School?”

The choice for Peter to attend this school had been quite a fight between him and Tony.  It was one of the most prestigious schools in the country, which was great, but it was also funded and attended by the richest snobs in the city.

Steve had essentially grown up in the slums and while he never wanted Peter to experience that kind of poverty, there were values to be learned from attending a school with families of diverse incomes. Diversity at the Anderson School meant sticking as many kids of different races on the brochures as they could and accepting children of foreign millionaires solely to appear “cultured.”

Of course, that was exaggerating things, but not by much.

Tony said it was the best school for a kid like Peter, and the high-profile classmates would probably help him feel more normal. At a public school, Peter Stark-Rogers would be under a spotlight harsh enough to melt him.

They had decided on the Anderson School.

“I do,” Steve answered curtly. “My son is a student here. I’m waiting for him and his father.”

The old man nodded a few times, his smile stretching like some macabre clown mask. “Mm. Yes. Well. We will be starting in a few minutes, so I suggest you hurry in as soon as you can.”

Steve narrowed his eyes a bit. “Thanks. I will.”

“Mr. Slovak! What a pleasure, as always.”

Suddenly Tony was right there beside him, forcing a hand out toward the old man, evidently Mr. Slovak. Tony was smiling in the way Steve knew to be one of concealed hatred. It was very convincing to other people that it was genuine, though, Mr. Slovak included.

“Goodness, Mr. Stark! What a pleasure to have you here! I can’t say I was expecting you this evening!”

Steve wanted to watch the exchange, but then there was a tugging at his shirt.

Peter was there, grinning up at him. He was thin as a twig still, but already approaching Tony’s height (not that it was hard to). Long gone was the chub from baby fat and bright blue eyes, in their place were lanky limbs he hadn’t grown into and dark brown eyes framed by even darker lashes. He was Tony’s son, for sure.

“Hey, Pops.”

Steve moved to give Peter a hug, but Peter backed up as though Steve had come at him with a needle.  Steve frowned, brow cocked.

“I’m at school, Pops!”

Oh. Right.

Steve rolled his eyes and ruffled Peter’s hair, earning him a squeak as Peter hurriedly tried to fix it again.

“—plenty of investment opportunities. With the tax breaks included and the demand only spiking, it’s a golden opportunity,” Mr. Slovak was saying, his previous stiffness all gone with Tony.

“Well, I’ll have my people look into it,” Tony said with a wide grin. He wasn’t interested. “We’re always looking for new projects.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. Just give me a call—I would love to bring you in on this.”

“Sure.” Tony reached behind him to scoop Peter forward by the shoulders. “Well, we gotta get this guy inside. Nice talking with you, Mr. Slovak.”

Tony looked at him and Steve smiled automatically.

“Nice to see you, Steve.”

Tony reached out his hand and Steve took it.

Tony’s ring was gone.

“You too, Tony. You’re gonna have to explain how this stuff works. The last science fair I went to, your dad had a flying car.”

Tony actually laughed, and Steve found himself chuckling because hey, Tony’s laugh was infectious. “Jesus, Rogers. You better get used to this. Huh, Pete?”

“Yup,” Peter said with a nod, playing with his tie.

They moved inside to where a crowd of parents, grandparents, and children were waiting. Some kids looked terrified, others were clearly bored out of their minds. All eyes turned to Tony, as though they cold smell monetary worth. It reminded Steve of the countless cocktail parties and charity dinners they’d attended together during their marriage, most of which Steve forced Tony to go to.

 _“You never really get used to it,”_ Tony had said once. _“Every time it happens, makes my chest get tight. It’s terrifying somehow.”_

Tony was startlingly good at hiding fear.

“Peter!”

Harry Osbourne had never been concerned with Tony or Steve. If anything, superhero parents only made _Peter_ cooler. Harry raced over—or tried to. His father had a tight hold on the back of his jacket.

Peter gave a sheepish wave. “Hey, Harry.”

“Go say hi, Peter,” Steve urged, patting the back of Peter’s shoulder. When had he gotten so tall?

Peter headed toward Harry, his smile widening and some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“They might grow up to hate each other some day,” Tony muttered, watching as Harry slung an arm over Peter’s shoulders just the way Bucky used to do when Steve was a kid.

Steve looked over at Tony, crossing his arms. “Really? I don’t think so.”

Tony tapped his temple. “It’ll get to ‘em. Peter’s going to be like me. Probably nicer, thanks to you, but he’s got my head. Harry’s the same. Except Harry’s got his mom’s head.”

“You’ve never even met his mother, Tony,” Steve said absently.

“But he’s not his dad. His dad knows it, too.” Tony nodded toward Norman Osbourne, who was talking with another father but keeping one eye on his son.

Tony tipped closer to him. “See how he watches him like that?”

“Like what? He’s making sure Harry doesn’t run off.”

Tony gave a minute shake of his head. “He’s wondering if he’s going to change. He’s wondering if Harry’s going to get smart.”

Steve shot Tony a look. “Harry’s incredibly smart.”

Tony made a clucking noise and gave a little shrug. “Sure, but not the same kind of smart Peter is. You don’t see it because you don’t watch them in the lab. Peter’s a formulaic thinker, he thinks exactly like me. Harry thinks abstract. The kid’s a genius, but he can’t follow through.”

Steve didn’t answer because Norman Osbourne looked their way.

He straightened as Norman approached, extending a hand.

“Steve, great to see you.”

Norman was a nice guy. He cared a lot about Peter and never made it seem like he was doing so just to be better friends with Tony. Or Steve, though it wouldn’t make sense why Norman would want to be friends with him.

“It’s been awhile,” Steve returned, shifting back as Norman greeted Tony. “How are things?”

Norman shrugged. “A few projects here and there, nothing very important.”

“I hear that,” Tony said, letting out a puff of breath.

The three of them spoke for a few minutes, catching up on the minor details of their lives that they wouldn’t remember and working in a discussion about the school’s antics (Norman was more on Steve’s side). Then Mr. Slovak announced that it was time to begin.

Peter and Harry rushed up to their respective parents, Harry looking excited and Peter looking less so.

Tony crouched, the grin on his lips so warming that Steve could feel the effects even though the smile wasn’t directed at him. Tony said something quietly to Peter, reaching out a hand to gently hold his arm.

Everyone had worried about Tony being a horrible father, but ever since Peter had been born, Steve was the one who felt second best. He supposed it was because Peter had Tony’s mind, and only two—maybe three if Pepper was included—people in the world knew how that mind worked.

Mr. Slovak called the students over.

“Good lu—“ Steve closed off his well-wishes as Peter ran off in his little suit and tie, not even noticing Steve had opened his mouth at all.

“He’s nervous,” Tony said, gently patting Steve on the shoulder. “Don’t read into it, Steve.”

Steve quirked his lips and nodded once, gazing down at the floor.

With a sigh, he turned to Tony. “So, what took you so long getting here?”

Tony grinned. “Ah, you know. Peter practiced his presentation, I got stuck deciding which tie to wear—the red’s nice, huh?—and we just…” He gave a little shrug. “The usual.”

Steve nodded, but he felt like Tony was putting him into a slot he didn’t fit into anymore. He’d forgotten what it was like to be scrambling to get somewhere, rushing around to grab coats and baby things, and the hurried “don’t forget the pack-n-play or else Pepper will have to ship it out and she hates it when that happens.”

Eight years.

They’d been divorced longer than they’d been married.

“Did you get that invite from Thor?” Tony asked, flicking two fingers toward the door before starting toward it.

“About London?”

Of course about London. Thor hadn’t contacted them about anything else.

“Yeah.” Tony flashed a charming smile at a mother before squeezing through the door and into the gym. “You going?”

“Nope,” Steve said casually, slipping through the people to stay close to Tony’s side. He always felt like he clung to people at events like this. At least with Tony it was excusable. Kind of. He wondered how parents who hated each other did these things.

Tony lifted a brow, turning to scan his face. “Why not?”

“A drinking party halfway across the world?”

“Don’t tell me this is a European problem,” Tony said, waving at a few people in a way that said ‘don’t talk to me.’

“European problem” was code for a WWII problem. Steve had been to London since the war. It hadn’t been a completely great experience, but it hadn’t been bad either.

“It’s not a European problem.”

They filtered into the mass of parents waiting at the far side of the gym until one of the teachers—no, the school publicist—grabbed them both and dragged them over toward the judges panel of a few bewildered-looking people in business attire.

For a school science fair, the Anderson School was pretty top notch. Eloquent three-fold posters sat on wood tables (real wood), each displaying one project from a student. At the corner were little plaques engraved with the students’ name and grade with a blank space underneath waiting to be filled with a title and placing. Except, unlike most elementary schools, not everyone went home with an award.

“Mr. Stark, if you wouldn’t mind holding onto this and taking a few pictures—“ The publicist held out a plaque with the Anderson School crest and past science fair winners.

“I—“

“He doesn’t like being handed things,” Steve interjected politely. He gently pressed the plaque away with his fingers. “We’re here to see our son. Tonight’s about him.”

The publicist shot him a fake smile and moved on without a word. Rude.

“It’s a European thing,” Tony said, as though their previous conversation hadn’t ended.

Steve sighed. “It’s not.”

“Pack in, pack in!” the publicist cried out from a few people away. “We have a lot of people to fit in here!”

Steve shifted closer to Tony until his ex-husband’s elbow was gently resting against his side. Neither of them acknowledged it.

“Then why not?”

Steve gave Tony a disapproving look. “Peter, for one thing.”

“Norman will take Peter for a few days. We take Harry on vacation every year. He owes us.”

“I have work to do—“

“We all have work to do, Spangles.” Tony nudged him with his elbow. “What’s up, huh? Why won’t you go?”

“Hey, look at that,” Steve mused, reaching up to poke a spot on Tony’s head just behind his ear. “Is that a gray hair?”

Tony backhanded his palm, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

Steve smirked, returning his hand to his pocket.

“Is it me?” Tony asked, looking over at him.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again before giving a shake of his head. “No, Tony.”

He’d gotten better. Steve attended team events that Tony attended, stood in the lines for the red carpet right beside his ex-husband that fueled gossip magazines for months. Like a few years ago when they got in a mock water gun fight at a charity event. It had scared Steve at the time, because some of those pictures really did make it look like they were in love again.

“Mkay.” Tony turned his head back toward the empty aisles in the gym, waiting to be filled with over-excited parents. “Then why so secretive about it?”

“I’m not being secretive.”

Lie.

Tony gave him an ‘oh please’ look to show he knew it.

Steve just gave a shrug.

The truth was that Steve had no money for a trip to London. No money for much of anything, really. Unlike Stark Industries, SHIELD had taken several budget cuts thanks to a leak two years earlier that detailed the salaries of the Avengers. The fact that Thor, an alien, was being paid at all had outraged people. Thor didn’t need the money, so they cut out his portion entirely.

Natasha refused to give up her salary—rightly so, in Steve’s opinion. Despite being national celebrities, they didn’t make a ton of money to begin with. And with all of the traveling and training Natasha and Clint had to do to stay sharp (most of which was outside of sanctioned and SHIELD-funded pursuits), they needed every cent.

Tony thought he had been involved in the re-budgeting process, but in reality, he’d only helped with the items that had been funded by Stark Industries. Tony didn’t make any money from SHIELD except from the tech he provided. And Bruce’s salary wasn’t touched, because everyone knew he didn’t need anything more to stress about.

So, as he always did, Steve stepped up. People would have lost their jobs if he hadn’t. A lot of people.

Now he made $100,000 a year. It was an enormous sum on paper, but between paying his half for Peter’s schooling, putting money in for Peter’s college fund, rent for his nice apartment close to Peter’s school, and chipping in for the summer camps and classes Peter attended, he had almost nothing left over at the end of the month. Not enough for a flight to London, that was for sure.

“Parents, please welcome this year’s science fair participants!”

Clapping and cheering erupted all around as the students filed into the bleachers for their photo op. Both Steve and Tony looked around for Peter until Steve spotted him in the middle of the sixth grade line.

“There he is,” he told Tony, pointing toward their son.

Peter noticed them and smiled.

Steve and Tony waved.

“That’s a nice suit you picked for him, by the way,” Steve murmured as he continued waving.

“Thanks. I wanted to go with matching ties, but he wasn’t up for that.”

Steve laughed, imagining Peter’s face screwing up at the sight of hotrod red. The blue he’d chosen was very nice.

Photos were taken and then the students went to their tables, ready to make their scientific presentations. Tony instructed that they not go to Peter’s first, to let him practice a few rounds before they headed over. They were going to bring a crowd with them, Tony knew it just as well as Steve did.

They walked around and took in quite the variety of projects. Some kids took the route of any normal kid—a project about dogs or cats or zebras. They listed facts and had plenty of pictures and went red when Tony asked then specific questions about their work.

Steve jabbed Tony with his elbow.

“What? I just had a hard time believing hippos eat 88 people a year.”

“You know what she meant.”

Tony pretended to be insulted. “I did not!”

“You almost made her cry,” Steve reminded him sternly.

“And I apologized, didn’t I?”

Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Some things never changed.

Peter’s presentation went perfectly. A crowd had gathered before they even arrived there, and Steve was, as usual, floored by his son’s intelligence. Peter had built a synthetic super-fiber more stretchable than carbon fiber but equally as strong. Using an undisclosed breed of spider, he’d used a combination of spiderweb and other materials to create a few prototypes.

Some parents looked disgruntled and one man even scoffed, earning him two righteous glares from Tony and Steve that had him “coughing” instead and sneaking away. They thought that Tony had done it all and given Peter the credit.

That is, until the question section began.

Using an amount of wit that had Steve on edge, Peter defended his project so well that even though Steve didn’t understand all of the scientific specifics, he knew no one in the room was going to be complaining about unfairness in the competition.

“I trust you coached him through that,” Steve muttered in Tony’s ear.

Tony gave him a sidelong smirk. “I gave him some pointers, yeah.”

When the presentation was over, Steve was the loudest clapper by far and immediately headed over to congratulate his son.

Well, until Tony grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Not so fast, Cap.” He nodded toward Peter.

A little girl with red hair and cheeks dusted with freckles was standing between her parents, who were offering their congratulations.

Peter was having trouble saying anything at all, his cheeks flushed pink.

Steve’s stomach twisted. “No.”

“Yup.”

The little girl didn’t say anything, but she was smiling along with her parents and even gave Peter a wave goodbye that looked like it had nearly knocked him over.

“But..but…” Steve trailed off.  Just yesterday Peter had been a little chubby baby toddling around the penthouse. Just yesterday Peter had been sobbing at his first Easter egg hunt because the eggs weren’t real.

“Her name’s Mary Jane,” Tony smirked. “Wonder where they got that name.”

“He’s twelve!” Steve exclaimed a little too loudly. Peter was too busy smiling down at his shoes to hear though.

“Oh come on, Steve,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “I lost my virginity when I was—“

“Tony, don’t you dare.”

Steve closed his eyes, lifting his fingers to rub at his temples.

He wanted to shield Peter from his crush, to hold him up and look him in the eye and tell him not to feel that way. He was too young to be feeling that way—he was still a kid! But Steve knew that wasn’t true. A few more months and Peter would be a teenager. If Bucky had any say in things, he’d be taking girls out on dates to wherever the hell thirteen year-olds went. Tony would probably be on the encouragement bandwagon too.

Steve dropped his hands with a sigh, his chest tightening with a bit of parental panic. Mary Jane. Who was she? A little girl, but what about her had Peter blushing? How did little kids even have crushes on each other? They were babies.

“Clam down,” Tony tried to soothe. “It’s a little weird, huh? He’s growing up.”

Steve could only nod pathetically.

“Awh, don’t look like that, Steve,” Tony groaned.

“What am I supposed to look like?” Steve snapped without malice. “He’s got a crush. He’s twelve.”

“Oh. You aren’t supposed to know about her, by the way,” Tony said. “Technically I’m not either, but I record him and Harry when they’re messing around in the lab. Safety reasons, I’m not a creep.”

Steve shot him a look.

Tony only grinned wider, this time with that twinkle in his eyes he only got when he was really happy.

“Hey Pete,” Tony called over Steve’s shoulder. He gestured for Peter to come over.

“You did great, Petey,” Steve said, crouching down and pulling Peter into a tight hug.

“Ugh, Pops, get off’a me,” Peter complained, wriggling to try to get free.

Steve didn’t let go.

Oh god, it was only a few years until Peter would be going out with girls for real. Going to prom. Getting his heart broken. Getting married. Having kids. Oh god. Not Peter.

Reluctantly, Peter’s lanky arms wrapped around him and gave him a squeeze. “You okay, Papa?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Steve said. He wasn’t.  Just as likely as there was marriage in peter’s future, so too loomed divorce. Not Peter. Not his little Pete. “I’m just so proud of you.”

“Pushing it, Steve,” Tony muttered.

“Thanks,” Peter said. He squirmed a little. “But can ya let go now?”

Steve forced himself to release Peter from the hug. How many more hugs did he get? How much longer would Peter let himself be hugged by his dads?

Tony and Peter shared a high-five. “Good work, kiddo. You nailed it.”

“Yeah?”

Tony snorted. “Oh yeah. That assh— _jerk_ who asked you about your cross weaving technique? You sorted him out.”

Peter giggled, obviously delighted.

Steve stood up, watching the way Tony’s eyes followed their son, his smile only spreading wider the longer he looked at him. Steve wondered how many times Tony had wanted Howard to say something like that. How many science fairs he’d stood around waiting for the father that didn’t show.

His heart hurt just thinking about it.

“Well, how about we go out for a little celebration?” Steve offered.

Peter looked to Tony.

Right. Tony’s week.

Tony just grinned, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Of course. I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Yes!” Peter pulled a fist down in a dramatic gesture of his excitement.

“Great,” Steve laughed.

They headed for the exit, past the signs that explained that the winners would be announced during the school day on Monday. Evidently parents had thrown a tantrum one year, thus ending the immediate announcement. Steve liked not knowing though—it let every kid feel like they’d won, if only for a few nights.

There were cameras outside, all of the flashes centering on Peter, who gripped tightly to Tony’s jacket.

Tony turned to Steve with a frown. “We’re taking a limo.”

He was glad Tony didn’t ask. “I’ll meet you.”

One of Tony’s brows lifted. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“O’Malley’s Shake Shack?” Steve tried.

Tony scowled. He never liked knowing Steve could see right through him.

A smile found its way to Steve’s lips. “I’ll see you there.”

 

* * *

  

The best part about O’Malley’s wasn’t really the shakes. Not for a little kid, anyway. The shakes were what brought the parents, because there was no better way to watch your money slip through your fingers than with a delicious milkshake in hand. The money-grabber was the game room. Flashing lights and LCD screens with colorful displays of cyber-deer waiting to be shot, cars waiting to be raced, and boxers begging to be punched were just too much for most kids to resist.  Peter’s favorite was the target-shooting game that involved shooting a plastic gun with a laser pointer on the end.

Two rolls of quarters could keep him going for hours and gave Steve and Tony time to catch up.

It was strange, having to catch up with the one person Steve had been able to fully and truly love in his life. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened with Peggy, if they would be sitting somewhere like this, divorced but trying for their son.

Something told him that if he ever had divorced Peggy, she would move across the country and he’d maybe see her once a year, kids be damned. She would raise them herself and they would probably be better off.

“It’s a money problem,” Tony said, watching Peter shoot with the toy gun in an accuracy game against a younger boy.

Steve took a long sip of his shake, ignoring what Tony had just said. “Do you ever think we made a mistake in not giving him a sibling?”

“Not this again,” Tony groaned. “Steve. You were an only child, so was I. I think it comes with the superhero territory.”

“Peter isn’t a superhero. He’s a kid.”

“A kid who just basically invented a flexible bulletproof fabric. I mean, it needs a lot of improving, but still. He did that on his own.”

Steve wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t say anything. Tony had a habit of “tweaking” things when Peter wasn’t around. “I just don’t want him thinking the only way he’s going to find fulfillment is by being in science fairs and trying to win your approval.”

He realized as soon as he’d said it that he grazed a nerve.  Tony’s features darkened.

“Excuse me?”

“Tony, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Tony’s nostrils flared. “I think you did.”

He sighed, reaching over to grab Peter’s abandoned shake to take a sip. “You’re proud of him and you make sure he knows it. But I don’t want him thinking that the only thing that makes you proud of him is science.”

“That isn’t what he thinks.”

A buzzer went off as a kid won the boxing game.

“He quit baseball and I had to beg him to stay in soccer another year,” Steve said.

“Maybe he doesn’t like soccer and you’re forcing him to play,” Tony said tartly.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “He loves soccer. But he said he has to spend more time in the lab. Not ‘wants to’, ‘has to.’”

Tony reached over, grabbing Steve’s shake. He took a sip and thought over the flavor for a moment. “What kind is this?”

“Black cherry chocolate,” Steve replied, grabbing it back from Tony’s hands. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

“Like you did?” Tony said, side-eyeing him as he motioned for their waitress. “Dark cherry pomegranate.”

“Black cherry chocolate,” Steve clarified when the waitress got a confused look.

“That’s what I said,” Tony muttered.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Anyway, when did I change the subject?”

Tony swirled around the remainder of his shake with his straw and lifted his shoulders a little. “When I said it was a money problem.”

Dammit.

“What was a money problem?” He tried to ask stupidly, but it didn’t really work. There were a growing number of people in his life that feigning man-out-of-time ignorance didn’t work on.

“London.”

“Tony, I don’t have to have a money problem not to go to London. I just don’t really want to go.”

Tony lifted his brows. Steve was trapped and he knew it. He just couldn’t figure out what corner Tony was backing him into. “How much was your shake?”

His eyes immediately flicked to the menu.  “Uh…”

“You don’t remember because you didn’t pay for it,” Tony said.

A string of curses ran through Steve’s head. “I was talking to Peter about his project. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Bullshit. You know every penny you think you owe me. If I tried to pay for a five dollar shake for you, you’d have a stick up your ass about it until you paid me back in full.” Tony pulled his straw from his shake and sucked the vanilla ice cream off the end.

“Excuse me for being excited about my son’s achievement—“

Tony screwed up his face. “Jesus, Steve. Quit it with the lying, yeah? It’s unflattering on you.”

Steve scowled. “I don’t have a money problem.”

“You won’t if you tell me what it is.”

That made his blood hot. “You aren’t giving a cent to me.”

A smirk spread on Tony’s lips. “So you are having money problems.”

Steve was blushing before he could turn his face away. So he just had to sit there with pink cheeks while Tony chuckled.  “It doesn’t concern you.”

“What are you spending on, hm? New bikes?” Tony put his straw back in his empty glass.

The waitress arrived with Tony’s new shake and he gave her a smile. “Thanks.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Steve said.

Tony pulled out his phone. “J, can you pull up Steve’s financial—“

“Tony, don’t you dare,” Steve snapped.

Tony paused, cocking a brow. “Dirty movies? Prostitutes?”

Steve was starting to tremble with anger. That’s what he told himself anyway, he was also deathly afraid of Tony doing something once he found out. Deciding joint custody was too much of a burden. Worse, offering to pay for everything himself and crowding Steve right out of the equation when he was already struggling enough to connect with Peter.

“Please don’t,” Steve said quietly.

Something crossed Tony’s face that Steve couldn’t read. But he put his phone away and pushed his empty milkshake glass to the side. Then he leaned over the table a little until Steve could see the hazel flecks in his eyes that used to make him feel warm and safe.

Now they unnerved him.

“I’m going to give you one chance to tell me what’s going on before I look it up myself,” Tony murmured.

“You can’t just look through my personal finances whenever you want,” Steve hissed. “Peter and all of his expenses aren’t in any danger, Tony.”

“I think I’ll decide that.”

Steve knew he was joking, but he grit his teeth anyway. Tony wasn’t cruel. Not that cruel. “I’ll take you to court.”

He wouldn’t.

“I’ll argue it was for Peter’s safety, Judge Judy.” Tony cocked his head. “And we both know my lawyers are way better than yours.”

“I’m fine,” Steve growled.

“I’ll pay for London. It won’t even cost anything. I’m taking my private jet, you can just hitch a ride.”

Steve held Tony’s glare even though both of them were probably thinking about the last time they’d had seven hours in that private jet together thirteen (or was it fourteen?) years ago. 

Back when they thought sex could fix things.

“No thanks.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Steve.”

Steve leaned back, not even realizing he’d leaned forward in the first place. “Nothing is going on.”

“You make what, seven-hundred fifty a year? A million including media licensing? What is this? Are you on drugs? You’re on drugs.  I knew it. Those muscles couldn’t possible be—“

“I took a pay cut,” Steve snapped. “There. You happy?”

For the first time, Tony actually looked affected by something he’d said. Tony tongued the inside of his cheek before making a clucking noise. “How much of a pay cut are we talkin’?”

“Enough,” Steve replied, taking Tony’s new shake and stealing the first sip.

Tony’s hand gently rested over his on the glass.

They locked eyes, Steve’s stern and Tony’s soft.

“How much, Steve.”

“People were going to lose their jobs.”

Tony’s fingers curled tighter. “How much.”

“Ninety percent.”

Tony’s eyes bulged, as though the words themselves had punched him in the gut. “Ninety percent?? Are you fucking—are you _crazy_?”

He didn’t move.

“Holy shit, Steve. I knew you could be stupid, but that just plain idiotic. Peter’s tuition is eighty grand. Your half is almost half of what you make in a year. Then I know your rent isn’t cheap, even with the senior citizen discount. You pay what, five grand a month with utilities? Four?  There’s your entire salary, right there.”

Tony actually seemed upset.

Steve shrugged. “I get bonuses when I have to go to D.C.”

Tony snorted. “Well there’s your groceries. Great. “ He put his head in his hands, then peeked his eyes out. “Let me help.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “We agreed that I wasn’t taking any help from you. Ever. Period.”

“That was assuming SHIELD paid you at least halfway decently. Jesus. Ninety percent. And I bet you didn’t fight them, either.”

Steve swallowed his sip of milkshake. “I told them I wanted enough to stay in my apartment and to pay for Peter’s things.”

Tony shook his head. “You aren’t making enough money to pay for the other things. Tech camp this summer. How did you come up with that money?”

Steve looked away to where Peter was now helping the little boy shoot better. The little boy was sniffling, apparently having lost earlier. A little smile ticked up the corner of Steve’s lips.

“Steve.” Tony reached over to wave a hand in front of his face. “How did you come up with the money?”

“I saved.”

“Then how did you pay for robotics camp?”

“I saved.”

Tony let out a huff. “Okay fine. How did you pay for your groceries and all the booze Bucky drinks?”

“Work.”

He could felt Tony’s gaze on him, running scenarios and trying to pinpoint the lie. “What work?”

Peter put in his own quarters to let the little kid play again, grinning brightly to try and coax a smile onto the younger boy’s lips.

“You know, work.”

“No,” Tony said. “I don’t think I know.”

Steve looked back over to Tony then realized he was chewing on Tony’s milkshake straw. He pushed the glass back across the table.  “The museum.”

“Bullshit, I know you do that for fr—“

“Security.”

Tony was going to look it up on his bank account statement anyway, even if Steve lied. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but there were a few things he’d never wanted to admit to Tony that ended up coming out. He was pretty damn sure they never would have been married or adopted a child if he hadn’t.

It looked like Tony still didn’t believe him. “Security at the museum.”

“Security at the museum,” Steve repeated with a nod.

“We’re talking about the Smithsonian, right? In D.C? As in, not in New York?”

Steve nodded, wishing he hadn’t drank his milkshake so fast. He had nothing to look busy with.

“Explain to me how that works.”

Ignoring Tony’s gaze was becoming increasingly difficult. “I’d rather not.”

Tony frowned a little. “Please?”

Steve pushed out a sigh. Again, Tony would probably just figure it out. “I took the pay cut two years ago. Ever since then, on weeks I don’t have Peter, I’ve been consulting or whatever for SHIELD in D.C. But that’s only a couple of hours a week. So I—Bucky came up with it actually—decided to apply for work at the Smithsonian. I basically get paid to sit at a desk.”

Tony looked insulted. “You’re Captain America. You aren’t supposed to sit at a desk.”

“It’s fifteen bucks an hour.”

A scoff left Tony’s lips and he shook his head. “Oh, great. Fifteen whole bucks. You sound like a high school kid.”

Steve pursed his lips. “I’m doing what I need to do. I like it, it keeps me busy during the weeks when Peter isn’t there.”

“Does Peter know?” Tony asked, fiddling with his destroyed straw.

Steve shook his head. “If I told him, he’d tell you. Besides, it doesn’t matter that I work at the museum. So what?”

An unexpected laugh burst from Tony’s lips. When Steve cocked a brow, Tony only laughed harder.

“You are seriously the most fucked up person I know,” Tony chuckled after a few moments, wiping his eyes. “I don’t even think that qualifies as humility.”

He didn’t need to sit around for this. Steve grabbed his coat, but first pulled out his wallet and retrieved a ten, the only bill he had. Much to Bucky’s chagrin, most of his money was in a bank now.

He tossed the ten on the table. “For my shake and to tip the waitress. Or my half of Peter’s quarters.”

“Steve, I’m not going to get on your case. Put your stuff down,” Tony said with his straw in the corner of his mouth. “At least do it for Peter.”

Steve reluctantly put his wallet back in his jacket pocket.

“I want to help,” Tony said, tapping his palm on the table.

“You can’t help, Tony. I already told you that.” Steve folded his hands in his lap underneath the table.

“Have you run out of money yet?”

“What?”

Tony shrugged. “Like, came up short for rent. Couldn’t pay for something. You said this has been going on for two years. You ever run out of money?”

He didn’t want to answer. “A few times.”

Tony was displaying nonchalance and maybe even distraction, but his eyes were an open window to the gears churning in his mind, analyzing and observing. “What’d you do?”

“Bucky helped me out. Sam a few times too. I paid them all back in full, of course,” he added quickly.

Tony took out his phone and tapped on it for a moment before showing the screen to Steve.

There were more numbers and commas than he’d ever seen in one account statement. And he knew for a fact Tony had about a dozen Swedish reserves with millions upon millions stuffed inside that weren’t included in that number.

“That’s my bank account. Obviously it isn’t all in one place like that, but that’s the running total, give or take the few million I’ve earned since showing it to you.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“What I’m saying is,” Tony continued, “however much you need, I can give you. I know you get all pissy about me giving you things, but hear me out.”

Steve only heard him out because Tony was looking at him so intently.

“If I was being a bad father and you could do something about it, would you?”

Steve’s lip curled in a snarl. “I’m not being a—“

Tony put a hand up. “I’m not saying that. Listen. Would you?”

“Yes,” Steve growled.

“Think of it this way. You’re putting time and energy into worrying about money. You’re stressing out about it—I can’t imagine you being the guy to call up Bucky and ask for money without thinking it’s a huge deal. Whether you want to admit it or not, it’s been affecting how you take care of Peter. “ Tony wiggled his hand to stop Steve from speaking out again. “ _So_ , let me help. I give you a couple thousand a month or pay your rent or—okay, okay, I won’t pay your rent. Stop giving those eyes. Let me give you a couple thousand a month, or you can just come to me when you need cash.”

“No.”

Tony passed a hand over his face. “God, Steve. Why not?”

“I never took any money from you during the divorce because I refuse to let Peter grow up thinking I was mooching off of you or leeching off of you.” His chest constricted. “And I’ve been dealing with this for two years. I make so much more than other people in this country, how dare I ask for more without earning it? Especially from you.”

It was perhaps too scathing, but Tony only blinked and kept listening.

“This is my problem. I’m fixing it. If it gets to be big enough of a problem, then I’ll move to a cheaper apartment. But I don’t want to unless I have to because Peter finally sees that place as home.”

Papa’s house, Pops’ house, then finally, ”home with my Pops.”

“Here’s the thing, Steve,” Tony said, motioning for the waitress to get another black cherry chocolate shake. He turned back to Steve with a little frown. “I get it. You feel like you have to earn everything. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, all that. But I want Peter living there just as much as you do. Change wouldn’t be good for him right now, I don’t think. It’s taken what, eight years? Now he’s finally settling in. I want his two homes to stay the way they are, just like you do.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not taking charity from my ex-husband.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony groaned. He let out a sigh and straightened again. “This is an action I’m doing as your friend, not as your ex-husband.”

Friend. _Friend_?

“You can’t be one without being the other.”

A little smirk curled on Tony’s lips. “You totally can. I could totally be your ex-husband and not be your—“

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, looking away.

“Think those comebacks through before you say ‘em, Spangles,” Tony said with a sly grin.

Steve propped his head up with a hand to go back to watching Peter, feeling like a little bit of an idiot. Damn Tony’s wit.

“Hey.”

Steve kept his head facing where Peter was still playing the shooting game, but lifted his brows and looked over to Tony. “Hm?”

“We’re still family,” Tony said quietly. “So I’m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

He tried to hide his smile, but he really couldn’t. So Steve lowered his hand from his face and lightly knocked Tony’s palm with the backs of his knuckles.

“Careful. I might start telling people that you’re nice.”

Tony let out a little mock gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Steve laughed. Then, after a moment, he shook his head. “We’ll talk about the money thing later. It’s not a big issue.”

“Right. The issue is that it isn’t a big issue,” Tony mumbled. “Let’s just drink our milkshakes and watch our son kill invisible monsters, yeah? Sounds a lot more fun.”

Steve reluctantly nodded. “Fine. But I want another sip of that.”

Tony pulled the milkshake out of his reach. “No way. Yours is coming. Patience, Rogers.”

Steve rolled his eyes before settling back in his seat. Tony was right, they were still family. They were lucky that they could still be this way with each other—most divorced couples were hardly as involved as they were. But it was important for Peter to have both of his parents and not have to pick sides. Somehow, they had managed to keep their arguments from getting to that point.

For the first time in a long time, Steve was tempted to take Tony’s hand, as if to physically symbolize their togetherness. It wasn’t a romantic notion in Steve’s mind, just something to show that he and Tony were still united in some things. In Peter and his wellbeing. Always that.

But Steve kept his hands in his lap, reflecting on the fact that this was the most at ease he had felt in some time. He would never ever admit it, but Tony always gave him the sensation that it wasn’t up to him to get everything right. Where he faltered, Tony excelled. Tony always made him feel like everything was going to be okay.

 

 

Weeks later, an “anonymous donor” gave enough money to the then-nonexistent “employees over 100 fund” at the Smithsonian that Steve got a pay raise of two hundred more dollars an hour. He pretended to be angry about it, but getting that first paycheck and knowing he wasn’t going to have to ask for help anymore had made him happier than he could remember being for a very long time. He’d cried, actually.

 

And before he went to bed that night, Steve spent far too long gazing at the drawer that held his old wedding ring, wondering what the hell had ever happened to make him ever dislike the man he had loved so much.

           


End file.
